


(Something That Can Be) Negotiated

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [82]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Porn with Feelings, Strap-Ons, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24247555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: Over time, Angela's boundaries have changed, have shifted, and there are things she would never have wanted to do, in the beginning, would never have agreed to, that now she thinks she would be comfortable with, even wants.  How to bring this up to Fareeha, she does not know.Or,Angela and Fareeha try something new.  It doesn't quite go as planned, but that's okay.
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [82]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/508281
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	(Something That Can Be) Negotiated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlemousejelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemousejelly/gifts).



> long time no series update. i had heart problems and coronavirus and heart problems... 2!! but i find out tuesday if i need heart surgery again so eh im done worrying for now
> 
> EDIT: nvm most of the above isnt news bc i posted fic on 4/20 that i apparently was so high i dont remember. WELL.

In most regards, Angela would say her relationship with Fareeha is a balanced one. They do not ask the same things of one another, do not do the same things for one another, but they are different people, and their needs are not the same, nor are their abilities. That is fine, is normal, is healthy, even. Neither of them seems to think this unfair, or unequal, and in the end, it is the satisfaction of both partners that is important, more than anything. 

But sometimes—sometimes Angela feels greedy, like she asks too much, gives too little. She knows, deep down, that such is not the case, has supported Fareeha through her reconciliation with her mother, has helped Fareeha to find better words to describe herself, and therefore helped Fareeha to better understand the woman she is off-duty, the circumstances of her being, has been a haven for Fareeha where it is not necessary that she pretend to be so confident as she must be on duty, and can be at home with her vulnerabilities, insofar as that is possible for anyone.

Still, Angela feels selfish, at times. The things she has asked of Fareeha have not necessarily been easy, much of the time, and often Fareeha offers to do for Angela things that Angela never thinks to reciprocate.

If Fareeha felt that she needed something, Angela is fairly confident, by now, that Fareeha would tell her. The two of them have worked very hard to learn to communicate their needs openly with one another, despite the fact that it comes naturally for either of them, admitting that they are not entirely self-reliant, that they sometimes are better off getting help, or love, or reassurance from another person. 

But what if Fareeha simply wanted something? What if there was something that she wanted, but did not think Angela would be comfortable with? Would she voice that desire, or put Angela’s presumed _need_ ahead of that, without ever bothering to confirm that such was so?

There, Angela is less sure. There are, after all, things that she wants, but could live without, that she has avoided asking of Fareeha, for the simple reason that things are happy enough as they are, and she does not want Fareeha to feel badly if she has to say no, if she thinks that there is some desire of Angela’s own that she cannot fulfill.

(No one can be everything to one person, this much is true, and no two people are perfectly compatible. Nevertheless, Fareeha comes close enough that Angela could never truly complain. What she wants from Fareeha but cannot have, she can either get from the other relationships in her life or live without. Nothing that she wants is worth more to her than having Fareeha in her life.)

Perhaps this concern is a reflection of her own feelings, and perhaps she is overthinking things, but she and Fareeha _are_ similar people, in many ways. They have similar values, and similar feelings about themselves, in relation to other people and their place in the world, regardless of how much their actual interests and approach to things differs. If Angela feels one way, then it is likely that, at least to a certain degree, Fareeha does, too. 

They are not _too_ compatible, quite, are not _too_ alike, but sometimes, they come close.

Even were they not, desire is a difficult subject for many people to broach, is something which is imbued with meaning, with implications, beyond the want itself, because of the ways desire is treated and spoken about by other people, the ways in which one is taught to think of oneself, one’s wants, as unacceptable, or a burden, or an imposition. Fareeha is, of course, never an imposition to Angela, and Angela does her best to make this clear, but knowing something to be true, and being able to believe it, are not always the same.

(Certainly, as a result of her own upbringing, Angela finds it difficult to discuss the specifics of what she wants, when it comes to sex, thinks that it is not tznius to ask, or to speak of things directly. About the abstract, she has never had a problem speaking, but her own desire? That is something she was taught to keep private, and sometimes the lid of privacy, once sealed, is difficult to pry off, even in the circumstances in which such ought to be allowed, by anyone’s rules.)

Sometimes, Fareeha has difficulty suggesting that they try new things, or revisit a topic previously tabled, because _she_ was taught, once, by a lover, to think that she is too pushy, to think that by voicing her own unfulfilled wants, she is implying that her partner is not doing enough to satisfy her, or is inadequate in some way. Such is not true, and she knows it, and Angela knows it, but that does not change the fact that she has learned to let go too easily of the things she would like for herself—sexually, at least.

No one would think of Fareeha Amari as being the sort of person who is afraid to speak her mind, and she is not, is more than willing to stand up to anyone, in a meeting, is able to make the difficult decision to defy orders, if she thinks it will save lives in the field, and pursued a career that meant, at least for a time, losing all contact with the mother whom she once worshipped as a hero. But sex is different, Angela has come to realize.

Here is the problem: Fareeha is conscientious. She is conscientious to a fault, and if a lover says even once that they do not want to do something, she never asks them again, for fear that they will feel pressured. For the most part, this is a good thing, but Angela is still learning how to exist, in a relationship like theirs, in one based on mutual respect and trust and love, in one which lasts for years, and not just one night. Over time, her boundaries have changed, have shifted, and there are things she would never have wanted to do, in the beginning, would never have agreed to, that now she thinks she would be comfortable with, even wants.

And there is the difficulty: she does not know how to address this with Fareeha, does not know how to explain that things are different, with her fiancée, than they were when last Angela tried them, either with one of her previous lovers, or earlier in their relationship. She is not good at asking for new things, and Fareeha, once told no once, will never ask again.

(In some ways, that is a comfort. With other lovers, in years past, when Angela was desperate to be loved, to feel that someone cared about her, she did too much to please her partners, was too yielding. Now, she only need say no once, need not worry about standing her ground, about giving in out of guilt. Fareeha has taken all of that worry out of the equation, by being so considerate as she is. Never will she take advantage of Angela’s obliging nature, whether intentionally or unintentionally.)

Now that Angela’s boundaries have changed, she is also aware, too, of the fact that there are things Fareeha has never asked of her, things which Fareeha herself seems to enjoy doing, and Angela wonders, now—did she feel uncomfortable asking? Did she think that, because Angela said no to something similar, she would say no to this too?

One question all too often beggars another, particularly for people such as Angela who think much and act little.

So it is that Angela finds herself wondering, one lazy afternoon, as the two of them are enjoying the afterglow, half asleep curled up together in their bed—does Fareeha not enjoy penetration, particularly, or has she just never asked Angela to wear their strap-on because, when they first started using it, Angela called it _Fareeha’s_?

(It is, in fact, Fareeha’s, in that Fareeha owned it before they started seeing one another, but these days more and more of their possessions are entering the hazy grey area of shared ownership. The quarters that once were Angela’s are now theirs, and the items contained therein are rarely exclusively used by one of them or the other, save for the clothing.)

It would be very Fareeha, Angela thinks, to assume that, because Angela has never bothered to buy a harness, she has no interest in wearing one, and therefore not to ask it of her. And it is very much like herself, Angela realizes, to have never offered, assuming that if Fareeha wanted that from her, then she would surely ask.

Initially the curiosity is an idle one, and it only crosses Angela’s mind because, from her position curled up on and around Fareeha, head on her fiancée’s chest, the object in question is directly in her line of sight, sitting atop their nightstand so that they remember to clean it off later. The more Angela thinks about it, however, the more she becomes aware of the fact that they have never discussed the matter—Fareeha neither asking nor her offering. It is a strange thing, she thinks, to have never come up.

After all, Angela has absolutely no objections to getting a harness that fits her, if the one they have cannot be adjusted to her size, and pleasing Fareeha in that way. It is not something that holds any sort of special appeal to her, not something she would ask to do, but she would be more than willing if Fareeha asked. Before now, however, it never occurred to her that Fareeha might be waiting for her to offer such a thing.

(After all, the fact that Angela sometimes has trouble voicing her desires, figuring out a way how to talk directly about what she wants—outside of the crutch of hypotheticals, such as discussing what she thinks would be nice if _a_ lover did—has not stopped her from taking charge when they are actually having sex. Although she has no objections to lying back and enjoying what Fareeha does for her, Angela very much also enjoys taking care of her partners’ needs, and if and when that means being in control, she is more than able to do so.)

So, Angela brings it up. She does not ask directly if Fareeha would like for her to use the strap sometime, does not say that she _wants_ to see how Fareeha reacts to having it used on her—although, now that she is thinking about it, she does want that, and more than a little—and because it is not a discussion of her own desires, that is easier for her, is a language that she does not have trouble accessing.

“You know,” says she, voice cutting through the quiet, the calm, and feeling Fareeha shift beneath her in response to the suddenness of her speaking, “I could always wear the harness too, if you wanted me to.”

“Uh,” Fareeha seems surprised by this sudden proposition, but that is only fair, Angela supposes. In three years together, she has never offered, and she did not give any sort of context for saying this, so Fareeha being caught a bit off-guard is only fair. “I mean, if you wanted to use it, I wouldn’t object.”

That is neither the yes or no that Angela was hoping for, and so she moves, props herself up on one elbow so that she is no longer resting upon Fareeha, and can study her face. Unfortunately, this does not offer any additional clues, as Fareeha still seems more surprised by the abruptness of this all than either pleased or displeased.

“If I objected, I wouldn’t have asked,” Angela points out. “But I’m asking what _you_ want.” That is what matters here, that Angela is afraid that Fareeha’s desires have fallen to the wayside.

“I don’t,” Fareeha pauses, but her tongue licks her lips slightly as she does so, and Angela knows even before she finishes the sentence that the answer is _yes_ , “I don’t want you to feel like it’s something you have to do but—yes. I’d like that.”

Somehow, the straight answer is more confusing, and Angela sits up straighter, frowning as she asks, “Why would I feel like I have to? I offered.” She knows that Fareeha worries about pressuring her, she does, but even so, their negotiations are not usually _this_ delicate.

Now, it is Fareeha who is leaning on her elbow, opposite shoulder shrugging as she answers, “Well, I just thought, you know, it might not be something you were comfortable with, since you’re trans.”

 _Oh_. Honestly, Angela had not considered that, had been thinking of the strap-on as only a vehicle of pleasure for her partner, and not an extension of herself, or some sort of substitute phallus. Later, she will have time to ask if that is how Fareeha feels, but for now, she has a more important question: knowing that it could be seen that way, is she still comfortable?

Obviously, she is trans. That is not something she can change, is not something that she can ever ignore completely, even so many years after transitioning. She has never pretended not to be, but she tries not to think about it, too often, because most of the time, it no longer matters. Most people think she is cis, and that is the way she prefers things to be. Fareeha knows differently, because Angela thought it important to tell her, when their relationship was becoming serious, and because, cohabiting, it would difficult to hide that she does not menstruate, but Angela tries not to think about the ways in which it might shape what Fareeha thinks of her.

This is a reasonable concern for Fareeha to have, a kind one, one born of not wanting to hurt Angela, or put her in a position where she might again feel dysphoric—but still, Angela hates that it had to be a concern at all, wishes that she were someone for whom this was never a question. That is, of course, impossible, but still, Angela does not like to be reminded that she is in any way different, in this regard, from the women whom Fareeha has dated previously. To be reminded so suddenly makes her uncomfortable, and makes her wonder, too, what else she has made complicated by virtue of being, what other things Fareeha might not have—

“Angela?” Fareeha’s hand on her shoulder and voice in her ear snaps her back to the present, and turns her gaze back to Fareeha, from the wall. She had not meant to look away. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” says she, but she says fine too sharply, her accent stronger on the word in a way that she knows will betray her. “I just hadn’t considered that.” It is not a lie, that statement. As much as possible, she tries not to think of ways in which she is different from many other women, and she tries not to project her own insecurities about that fact onto their sex life, with varying success.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Fareeha starts, “I just mea—”

“It’s okay,” Angela insists, because Fareeha did not do anything wrong, by saying what she did, did not have ill intent, only wanted to ensure that Angela was not hurt. “I know what you intended.”

(She does not say it did not hurt, to realize that Fareeha has perhaps been tiptoeing around this for her sake, or that she does not hurt herself, by thinking that her own differences make her inadequate, for both of those things would be a lie. But she knows, too, that Fareeha is trying to help her, trying to protect her, is good and kind and caring, and she cannot fault her for that, cannot fault her for trying too hard to avoid pushing Angela.)

Gently, Fareeha places her other hand on Angela’s thigh, the prosthetic cold but the intent behind the gesture warm, “It’s not about what I intended. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” Angela reassures, as best she is able, brings one of her own hands up to cup Fareeha’s face, “You’re kinder than anyone could ask for.”

A pause, then, because Fareeha has trouble, sometimes, thinking of herself as kind, reconciling the soldier she is, who kills, with a woman whom others can see as gentle, as loving, given the moral injury their work inflicts on them every day, and they sit with that statement.

“I love you,” Fareeha says, after a few moments, and the words are simple, but they need not be anything more.

“I know,” Angela tells her. And then, dropping her voice a little, suggestively, “I love you, too. Let me show you.”

At that, Fareeha grins, and whatever it was they were feeling before—the vulnerability, the worry, the hurt—is set aside, as she lets Angela move into her space, allows herself to be kissed, hard, and to fall backwards with Angela on top of her.

(Later, Angela will have time to think about what it is she feels about Fareeha having assumed she would not want to do this, will know better what to say to her fiancée about the matter, but she will need time to decide that, and solitude, so knowing that Fareeha’s intent was good, she can set it to the side, for now. What matters is that Fareeha loves her, goes out of her way to save Angela even the slightest discomfort. What matters is that Fareeha needs to know that Angela cares just as much about her happiness, her pleasure, her safety. What matters is that Fareeha looks so, so good with her already full lips swollen from kissing, her dark eyes even darker with arousal.)

“Now,” says she, after a minute of kissing Fareeha, two, three. “Stay right there.”

Dutifully, Fareeha obeys, but when Angela moves off of the bed and picks up the harness, she speaks, “Right now?”

“Yes?” Why not now? It is something Fareeha said she would like to do, and Angela _said_ she had no problem with it—can she not also prove as much? “Unless you don’t want to?”

“I do,” says she, “I _definitely_ do.”

“Good,” Angela is adjusting the harness even as she says it, having shimmied it up over her hips while she was asking the question. “Because it fits.”

(That Fareeha might have had good reason to ask the question does cross her mind. Usually, after they discuss something, they do not try it for another few days, just in case someone changes their mind, or needs time to mentally prepare, but this is just a strap-on, is perfectly vanilla. Why would they need that time?)

So that is that. She does not add the dildo to the harness, yet, because she would prefer a bit more foreplay before they move on, but otherwise, the matter is settled. Both of their mouths are too busy for more conversation, as soon as Angela is back in bed, and although it is a sensation she is unaccustomed to, the way the harness rubs against her when Fareeha slips a thigh between her legs, it is certainly not an unpleasant one, and they are used enough, by now, to what one another like, so it is not difficult to get into the swing of things.

As always, Fareeha’s lips are soft, and her hands are gentle as they run along Angela’s body—just until Angela no longer wants them to be, pinching at her nipples, or grabbing her ass. They are used to breathing in sync, and Angela can feel her heartbeat rising, knows that Fareeha’s must be, too, although experience tells her that Fareeha’s pulse is higher than her own, knows, too, that Fareeha finds it easier than she to reach a comfortable state of arousal, is quicker to go from wanting, mentally and emotionally, to feeling the effects of that want. Even if experience had not taught Angela this, she would know it from the way Fareeha presses against her, arching herself so there is no space between the two of them, anymore.

There is a comfort in this, in the normalcy of it all. No matter what was said earlier, Fareeha wants her all the same. Nothing has changed, even if Angela’s awareness of the ways in which Fareeha thinks of her has.

(Or, rather, her awareness of the fact that Fareeha does not _forget_ or _ignore_ her transness, actively takes it into consideration. Theoretically, this is a very good thing, but still, Angela prefers not to discuss that part of herself, does not like that there are people who know at all—or does not like that there is anything to know, rather. Too often, she has been made to feel that people view her not for whom she is, but for the circumstances of her being, and it is a strange thing, still, to accept that knowledge of her personality, her inner self, can coexist with knowledge of all the different lenses through which Angela has been viewed in the past, the things that have been used to reduce her to an idea of what a person like her ought to be, rather than whom she is. Later, Angela will think back on this, and decide that it is a lovely thing, that Fareeha can incorporate Angela’s transness into her treatment of Angela without it being overt, or with it seeming to have changed how she views Angela herself over much. Angela being trans is something to note, for her, but does not distract from the fact that Angela is still herself, still the same woman Fareeha knew before she was aware of this fact. Later, Angela will know this, and be grateful for it, be that much more content and secure in their relationship, knowing that Fareeha is capable of such a balancing act, and so clearly loves her so very much—but for now, Angela has other things to focus on.)

It is clear, from the way Fareeha is insistently pressing their hips together, that she would very much like for things to move forwards, and so Angela finds herself drawn back to the present, back to the awareness of just how well their bodies fit together. There is a small sound Fareeha makes, not a whine, nor a groan, something steadier and softer, when she is aroused and very much wants for things to move forwards, and Angela has come to know it well over the past few years. While Fareeha is somewhat particular about what she likes, what she wants form a lover, she is very responsive to those things which she does enjoy, and so it takes Angela very little time at all to coax that sound from Fareeha, to get her to the point where just a little is no longer enough.

Normally, Angela would move a hand down now, to touch Fareeha, or she would begin to kiss her way down Fareeha’s neck, slowly, teasing as her mouth makes her way further downwards, but this time, their plans are different, so she sits back on her heels, straddling Fareeha, and reaches for the nightstand.

…Only to realize that she does not know what Fareeha’s preferences are, in this regard.

“Ähm,” says she, only a little embarrassed to have to ask the question, “Do you have a preference for which dildo I use?” Presumably, Fareeha does, and Angela thinks she probably knows the answer based on what Fareeha likes her to do with her fingers, but still, it is best not to assume, particularly when there is nothing stopping her from just asking.

“The blue one,” Fareeha says, without a moment of hesitation. 

Humming in acknowledgement, Angela opens the drawer. It is thicker than the one they had out, and slightly longer, too, but decidedly less realistic. Their usual go-to is matched perfectly to Fareeha’s skin, and suddenly, Angela is glad they are not using it, even if this means twice as much cleaning up later—it would be funny, to see something so obviously matched to Fareeha against her own skin, and probably more than a little strange.

She struggles, a little, with getting it to sit right in the harness, not used to doing this, but she manages it before Fareeha feels the need to intervene, and she counts that as a victory. It is a little strange, to have on, and decidedly unlike a _real_ penis, in her opinion, but that is for the best. Before she transitioned, she never did like penetrating other people. This, however, is different, _feels_ different, because wearing a strap-on is something cis women do. Right?

(If Angela is trying a little too hard to convince herself, she will not acknowledge that.)

Were she so inclined, she knows there is a little pocket inside the harness to place a vibrator for herself, but Fareeha almost never does, and Angela thinks that even if she is okay with wearing this, she would rather take it off once Fareeha is done, and come then, rather than go through the hassle of trying to figure that out.

So, that being settled, she climbs back onto the bed, and moves, again, over to Fareeha—accidentally bumping the strap against her lover’s knee as she does so—and tries to find a comfortable position. She knows how this works, of course, but suddenly it feels daunting.

But Fareeha is waiting, not quite patiently, but quietly, legs spread, and from where Angela is kneeling between them she can see how wet Fareeha is already, knows that really, she should just go ahead and do this.

Still, she hesitates, moves her hands in gentle patterns on the inside of Fareeha’s thighs under the guise of foreplay, and then, when Fareeha tilts her hips insistently towards her, moves her fingers to feel Fareeha’s wetness, ostensibly to make sure that she is ready. Really, it is Angela who does not feel ready.

But that is ridiculous. This is just a strap-on, is not the same as having a penis, again, is not at all like things used to be, before she transitioned. Just because Fareeha thought of them as being similar discomforts for Angela, does not mean that they are.

So, she should prove that.

Slowly, she moves her body over Fareeha’s, balances herself on one hand and uses the other to guide the strap in. Any hesitation on her part is easy enough to pass off as conscientiousness, as a desire to not move so quickly that things are uncomfortable for Fareeha.

After a few moments to adjust, however, Fareeha rolls her hips again, says, “Okay, I’m good to go,” and then Angela has no excuses left. 

Well, that is fine. After all, this was Angela’s idea. She has no problems with it. She told Fareeha as much already.

If she does not feel connected to this, as she moves, well that makes sense, because she cannot really feel the strap, gets feedback more from Fareeha’s response—beautiful, as always—than feeling how the base of the strap presses against her. In time, she thinks, she could learn to make this more fluid, more natural, but she realizes, too, that she is grateful it is not, is grateful this feels foreign.

She does not want to like this, she realizes abruptly. She likes that Fareeha likes it, likes the way Fareeha reacts, likes seeing the way that she furrows her brow on a just-right stroke, likes the slight difference in their position, and therefore her view of her lover’s face, and likes knowing that this is bringing Fareeha pleasure, but she does not like what it is that she herself is doing.

That is fine. She does not _dis_ like it. She does not. Because this is just a strap, and plenty of cis women have no problem using one, and if she were not thinking about what Fareeha said earlier, she surely would not be reminded of how things were, years ago, when she was very much in denial about being trans and doing everything to prove she could be a man, the _right_ way. 

Right?

Wrong. It is all wrong. Maybe, if it were not already on her mind, with the discussion they had right before this, Angela would be okay with this—but maybe Fareeha is right. Maybe she just is not comfortable doing this, and never will be.

She does not want that to be true, because she wants to do for Fareeha everything her past lovers have, does not want to be different from them in any way because she is trans, and because Fareeha is so obviously enjoying this, but she knows, too, that when Fareeha realizes that it is not nervousness or unfamiliarity that is making Angela so tense—and she will notice soon, for they know each other too well—that she will feel guilty for having enjoyed this, and perhaps blame herself, and that is not fair. 

Angela expects Fareeha to be honest about what she wants with Fareeha, so she herself has to be honest here and—

“Stop,” says she, and closes her eyes so she does not have to look Fareeha in the eyes as she says this, “I’m sorry,” says she and Fareeha tries to interrupt, to say something, voice full of concern, but Angela keeps speaking because she just wants to get the discomfort of saying this over with, “You were right. I can’t—we should do something else.”

(That is as close to voicing her feelings as she can come, because she has enough trouble acknowledging how she feels privately, let alone telling them to someone else, even if that someone is Fareeha, whom she loves dearly and trusts more than everyone else in the world.)

“We don’t have to do anything else,” Fareeha says, voice very gentle, stroking one of Angela’s cheeks with the back of her knuckles, as if she were a wild animal that might spook. “We can just talk about this an—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Angela says, removing the strap as quickly as she can without having to worry about hurting Fareeha, “I just want to do something different.”

“I understand,” Fareeha says, but Angela can hear the _but_ in her tone before she says it, “But I’m not going to be able to enjoy anything if I’m worrying about you.”

That is fair, is entirely reasonable, in fact, but it does not mean that Angela is happy to hear it. Still, she will be as open and honest as she can be, because Fareeha will not be content to just drop this—if they do not talk about it now, then they will later. If only so that Fareeha does not have to worry about accidentally making things worse, somehow.

“I didn’t hate it,” Angela says, and before Fareeha can point out that she had to stop, qualifies the statement, “In _theory._ ” She moves to lie beside Fareeha, both an excuse to avoid eye contact and a way to be pressed against Fareeha without the strap between them. “It was fine watching how you responded—more than fine. I just—after our conversation, I was still thinking about what you said. About this being different because I’m trans. And I couldn’t…” she searches for the words, and Fareeha is patient with her, waits for her to find them, rolls onto her side next to Angela, and rubs small circles on Angela’s skin with one thumb, a comforting gesture. “It was too similar to the way things were before,” is the explanation Angela settles on. Appropriately vague.

“That’s okay,” Fareeha says, and sometimes, Fareeha is so kind to her, so understanding, that Angela could cry. It is a wonderful thing, and a terrifying one, to know that someone thinks of you as deserving of that kind of love. “We don’t have to try it again, if you don’t want to. And I’m sorry if—if my saying anything before made it worse, somehow. Because I didn’t mean to imply that things were different because you were trans, I just meant…”

A lull. Angela decides to save Fareeha from having to find a way to finish that sentence well, “I know what you meant,” says she, because she does. Fareeha was trying to be sensitive to her vulnerabilities, not to say that she is somehow lesser. “And I did enjoy some parts of it,” she liked watching Fareeha roll herself into the toy, liked seeing her face as she tried to get the angle just right, tried to manipulate the object into bringing her the pleasure she wanted—a rather different response than when it is Angela inside of her, and she asks Angela to move differently, or begs her to, depending on the situation. Thinking about it in that light, the ways in which the toy is not an extension of Angela, makes the situation far more interesting, and more arousing. “It was just the position, I think,” or, rather, was her moving, and the toy moving with her, but that is more difficult to explain, “It reminded me of—less pleasant things.”

“I’m sorry,” Fareeha says, and it is clear she means it, although she has absolutely nothing to apologize for.

“It’s an easy fix,” Angela says, “If you’re on top, I think, I’ll be fine.”

“Now?” Fareeha’s tone is dubious, at best. Admittedly, this is fair—if Angela had given their previous attempt just a little more thought, they would not be having this conversation.

If Fareeha does not want to—is not comfortable—Angela understands, she does, but she does not want things to end on this note, knows that if that happens, then she will feel badly, will think of this as a way in which her transness limited her, and worse, affected Fareeha’s ability to enjoy something. That is not a rational response, but emotions rarely are, and Angela knows herself well enough to know that her default response to unpleasant truths is to feel guilt.

(It has taken her a long time to acknowledge this to herself. For so many years, the guilt was so all-consuming that it felt like she deserved to feel that way. Slowly, she has come to realize that there are many things which are not her fault, and still more for which feeling guilty serves no purpose. Partially, this is the influence of Fareeha, and part of it is just time, is coming back here, to Overwatch, and seeing what will become of her, if she carries that guilt forever, seeing that so many of the others feel it, too.)

How to say this to Fareeha in a way that does not make it feel like she needs it, does not pressure Fareeha into doing anything? How to explain that she never wants to disappoint Fareeha, ever, and least of all because of something about herself which she cannot change?

What she settles on is this, “I don’t want to feel like I can’t do something you want.”

“Angela,” Fareeha’s tone is very gentle, but there is the edge of caution, too, “I won’t be disappointed. It was you who suggested this, remember?”

She does, but guilt is not a rational thing, and her feelings about being trans are a knot in her chest that she cannot unravel, even after twenty years. “I will be,” says she, and that is the truth of it. Rational or not, she will be disappointed in herself.

A long pause, and the thumb on Angela’s abdomen stops moving as Fareeha considers. “Alright,” says she after more time than Angela cares to think about has passed. “But if it bothers you again—we’re going to have to go into more detail about why. For _my_ comfort.”

That is fair, but is a large ask. Fareeha knows this, she must, but Angela is forced to admit that such is only fair. She does not want Fareeha to have to fear, every time that they have sex, that she is going to do something wrong, and if it turns out Angela is wrong about this, does not know what it is that is bothering her, then that would not be an entirely unreasonable fear. That, Angela can understand, needing to know that one’s lover feels safe.

(The first time she pulled Fareeha’s hair during sex, mindlessly, it had ended very badly, and Angela can remember how hesitant she was, the next few times they slept together, how much she worried about again doing something which might make Fareeha feel that way. What it was her action reminded Fareeha of, she has never asked, because they were not at the point in their relationship, then, that they were able to be as open with one another as they are now, but she has never pulled Fareeha’s hair again.)

But she is certain that she is right about this, is certain that things will be fine, if they try things with Fareeha on top, where it is not her moving inside Fareeha, but Fareeha moving against a toy, and her watching that. Such a reframing is perfectly comfortable for her, and she thinks that, afterwards, they will both feel better, will not have to worry, next time, that something will go wrong, because they will have worked this out.

She knows this, she does, and that too is important to her—knowing that most of the time, she does know how she will respond to things, and most of the time, she can control her reactions. One bad reaction does not change that.

(She needs to be certain, in her profession—both of them do—needs to trust that when she makes a decision, it is the right one. This is not so different.)

“I’m certain,” she tells Fareeha, voice making that clear.

“I believe you,” is the response that she gets—not quite what she expected, and she does not know whether Fareeha believes that she is certain, or believes that she is correct, but in the end, it does not matter, because Fareeha says, “But I will need us to start the foreplay from the beginning.”

That is fair enough, Angela supposes, because conversations about vulnerability and upsetting one’s partner are far from arousing.

She never objects to having the excuse to kiss Fareeha, anyway.

This time, things are different, because although Fareeha is allowing Angela to set the pace, it is not because Angela is the one in charge, here—it is Fareeha, now, whose body is draped over hers, Fareeha who initiates the kiss, Fareeha who brings Angela’s hands up to her breasts—but rather, it is clear that Fareeha is just trying to go at a pace that makes Angela most comfortable, giving her time to pause things or end them entirely if she changes her mind.

But she does not change her mind. In fact, the more Fareeha kisses her, the surer she becomes.

In time, Fareeha becomes surer, too, her growing certainty showing in the strength with which she kisses Angela, in the little sounds that escape her mouth as Angela teases her nipples just so, in the rocking of her hips against Angela, the way she arches to be closer, closer, as if they could melt into one person.

The energy between them is not quite normal, as they do this, some of Fareeha’s movements tinged with an air of hesitation, but as with most things, this need not be perfect to be good. Both of them are enjoying themselves, and although the earlier trepidation is not forgotten, not entirely, it fades to the background, becomes very easy to ignore when Fareeha’s tongue is in her mouth, and Fareeha is sliding a finger under the harness straps to rub at Angela’s clit.

When Angela says, “Wait,” Fareeha’s response is not quite normal, but when she says, “It’ll be easier when the harness is off,” Fareeha visibly relaxes. And when she adds “And I want to watch you get yourself off first,” Fareeha does not manage to suppress her shudder of arousal, if she even tries.

Fareeha reaches down to touch herself, then, and Angela has to reach out a hand to stop her, grabbing Fareeha’s wrist. “ _On_ the toy.”

Saying it like that, calling it a toy, not even a strap, makes it much easier. It is nothing phallic at all, is merely something which Fareeha can use to bring herself pleasure. Certainly, it is different from how Fareeha refers to it, when she is wearing it, prefers to call it her cock, but their needs are different, and their wants are different, and her meaning is clear enough.

(Still, Angela thinks that the next time Fareeha is wearing the harness, she is going to hesitate when the time comes to refer to it directly. Of course, she will say what Fareeha prefers, will call the strap a cock, will call it _Fareeha’s,_ but she knows she will not erase the feelings she associates with that entirely. But it is Fareeha’s cock, and not hers, and that—that is okay, that is safe. When the time comes, she will say it, and it will be fine. This, she knows.)

Although Fareeha moves slowly, positioning herself on the toy, Angela chooses to pretend that she is just figuring out the best angle, rather than allowing for an objection to be raised. Even if Fareeha does hesitate, she still ends up on the toy in the end, still furrows her brow and releases a little huff of breath when it is fully inside her that makes it clear that she is enjoying this, the sensation of it, the fullness.

Angela, too, is enjoying it, particularly when Fareeha starts to move. The pressure of the base of the toy on her clit is not particularly noteworthy, but the show Fareeha is putting on is another thing entirely. That she likes watching Fareeha is no secret, and that Fareeha likes putting on a show, too, is something which they have long since established. Therefore it should not surprise her, how much she enjoys this, should not surprise her how much Fareeha does—but it is unexpected, nonetheless, how much her very slight participation has heightened that enjoyment.

Above her, Fareeha is very obviously enjoying herself, her eyes having closed in concentration, and both hands on her breasts, teasing herself. She is biting down on her lip and releasing little huffs of breath through her nose on each downstroke, and Angela can _see_ when she hits the right spot after rolling her hips, can read it in the way her expression changes.

On any other night, Angela might reach out, might touch Fareeha, would be able to get her off so easily at this point, judging by Fareeha’s expression, but she does not want to risk the transition from observation to participation changing how she herself feels about this. So, instead, she watches, and enjoys the very unique torture of being able to look but not being able to touch. One never wants something so keenly as when it is denied them.

Fareeha is so _strong._ Always, Angela has known this, but she is even more aware than ever, form this angle, of the way the muscles in her abdomen ripple as she moves, and the definition that is visible in the tension in her thighs. She is so strong, and so under control, and so very precise in her movements, that it is a wonder she can also be so gentle, so delicate, so vulnerable, when she needs to be. But she can be, she can be, and she is not to rough with herself, even now, takes one hand from her chest to trace a slow line down her torso, as if it were a lover who was teasing her, moves it down, down, down, and to her clit.

What she likes, there, is far gentler than Angela’s own preferences, and although it is impossible to tell, just by looking, Angela knows how lightly she is touching herself, how carefully she introduces stimulation to her clit, scaling things up from a soft touch to a gentle rolling from side to side. With Angela, she can be rougher, because she needs to be, but with herself, she is always gentle.

And now, her strength falters a little, and her rhythm too, and Angela knows she is very, very close, is familiar with her expression and the stutter to her movements both. There is an illusion, here, that Angela is not participating, upheld by the silence, at least on Angela’s end, a detachment from this act, a comfortable distance, but in this moment she does not want to be distant, wants to be as close to Fareeha as possible, wants to know all of that strength and delicacy at once.

So she shatters she illusion, tells Fareeha she is _beautiful,_ she is _perfect_ , and _just let go, I’ll catch you,_ and Fareeha does, she comes, and she falls forwards, as she does so, onto Angela, not so quickly that it is painful, but with the abruptness of a surrender.

She comes, and she quakes, and she falls apart in Angela’s arms, on Angela’s chest, and it is perfect, it is.

Fareeha did not ask for that, did not ask for Angela to hold her, but she did not need to ask. This time, Angela knew what it was that Fareeha wanted, knew what it was that she needed, and she offered it.

Perhaps she cannot give Fareeha everything, perhaps they are not perfectly suited to one another, in all things, but she can still do this, can still find ways to ensure that, within what she is able to do, Fareeha’s needs are still met, and she is still satisfied. This is not perfectly equal, but it is a balance of Fareeha’s wants and her own ability to give, and in the end, that is enough for her, for Fareeha, and for the both of them.

And, she knows, once Fareeha is recovered from her own orgasm, she is going to ensure that Angela is satisfied, too.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i wrote this all in one sitting after not writing for so long BECAUSE today i was in my friends yoga class on insta (NOT irl) and we were on like, minute four of our headstand, and he goes "u know, what u think of when ur in this deep meditative flow is tied to what brings u true satisfaction in life" and i almost fell flat on my ass bc u know what id been thinking abt. pharmercy. specifically them fucking. SO here we are also i didnt fall and dont do headstands at home unless ur super experienced
> 
> so anyway heres what brings me true satisfaction in my life or w/e
> 
> hope u enjoyed, and that u leave me ur thoughts!! BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY STAY SAFE OUT THERE


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